


Boundless

by Inforapoundd



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Love, Oral Sex, Romance, Seduction, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-11-23 07:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20888570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inforapoundd/pseuds/Inforapoundd
Summary: Twice stung by misplaced love, King Harald is cautious when he meets a vibrant, young, woman while visiting Kattegat. Captivated by her artful charm and sweet seduction, he learns that it is often the woman who chooses the man. But as a ruthless Viking, with a weakness for alluring women, he must tread carefully or risk making enemies with two powerful Kings.More on Tumblr @inforapound





	1. Chapter 1

It was the reflection of the sun on the smooth wave of dark hair that compelled him to turn back for a second look. A sheen off the long, nearly black locks, bordering a sun kissed face with perfect lips and high cheekbones. His body stirred as his eyes searched again for their target. Slipping back, she was lost in the crowd of people shuffling and pushing past one another in the packed market. There had been eye contact, he thought. She had looked at him. He was not imagining things.

Kattegat had never been so busy. The merchants, never so prosperous. The visiting jarls and kings, along with their warriors, spent well enjoying their final week before sailing to the shores of England. A legend had fallen and they would, together, avenge him.

People shouted at one another over the frenzied din of foreign voices. Norse, the primary tongue, but the thick and varying accents proved that despite his death, the buried king still held the hearts of Scandinavia.

The sizzling ingredients from the various food stalls cast a smokiness into the air. Blending with the salty scent from the harbour and the filth in the streets, it was hard to tell if the sweet smell was, in fact, unpleasant.

Searching the bustle, his eyes scanned the spot where she had been, his mind desperate to prove that his eyes had fooled him. Beauty like that could not have been real.

"Yellow?" he asked himself. Had she been wearing yellow, he wondered?

"Yellow?" Halfdan's forehead creased with confusion. "Are you listening to me?" he eyed his big brother, as he turned over a skewer of grilled meat, deciding on his next bite.

"Yes, I just..." Harald paused as his eye caught the movement of her wavy hair. A large basket was passed between two people opening the view beyond. There she was. Turning her head, she looked straight at him. Holding his breath, he could only stare. Glancing away, she seemed to search the distance off to one side before returning her gaze back to him. Smiling, she whipped around, rushing further into the sea of patrons.

Stepping forward, he knew his eyes had not failed him, she was magnificent.

"Now I know for certain you are not listening. Where are you going?" Halfdan spoke around a mouth full of meat.

"I saw something."

"Something?"

"Someone..." his voice trailed off as he kept his eyes toward the edge of the market where the stalls bordered the dense trees. "I will see you at the hall."

"Brother," Halfdan called. "Do you want me to come?" he squinted, searching the distance for what had captured Harald's attention.

"No," he called back over his shoulder. "Meet you at the feast."

Pushing through the market, he paused, looking down the switchback path to the river. Free of apprehension, he started down the trail.

The sound of gurgling water reached his ears before the trees thinned and he could see the shallow, gently moving stream. Coming around a thick evergreen, there she stood, facing away. The hem of her long, soft yellow dress was lifted just above her ankles, as she waded barefoot through the water.

Feeling like an intruder, he stopped just before the round pebbles of the riverside, giving her space as if she might spook.

"I did not think it would be this humid here. I am enjoying this true summer. So much warmer than home," she looked over her shoulder toward him, her eyes focused on his.

"Where is home for you?" he asked looking at her olive skin and dark features.

Biting her lower lip in what looked like an attempt to stop herself from smiling, she turned away. Lifting her foot just out of the water, she kicked a small ripple into the swirling stream.

Hiking her skirt further to mid calve, she turned back to face him.

"Everyone here seems to be from somewhere else King Harald." Her lips were pressed together but there was a brightness in her light brown eyes.

Following her lead, he too pressed his lips together to conceal the thrill of her addressing him by name. Clearing his throat, he tipped his chin and long beard down, squinting as he took in her form.

"Yes, it seems even enemies can gather peacefully... for a time."

"For a time," she repeated, nodding her head before dropping her eyes back down to the water. "Would you care to join me?" She looked up, amusement breaking through her expression.

The smile spread over his face before he could stop it. The corners of his eyes creasing as he beamed back at her. Chuckling softly, "I...

"There you are!" a sandy-haired, disheveled looking young man called from the top of the path. Beginning a hasty descent, he huffed loudly the entire way.

"Stop!" she yelled up toward him. Abruptly halting, he stuck his head forward and threw his hands up in frustration, waiting for her to continue.

"I do not answer to you," she narrowed her eyes, continuing to swirl the gurgling water with her toes.

"No," he exasperated, "but I answer to your father and he will cut off my head, along with other things," he grumbled under his breath, "if anything happens to you. This town is crawling with warriors.

"Surely, you do not think King Harald would allow anything to happen to me, do you?" she pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows in question.

Stepping forward, the young man peered around the large evergreen, eyes shooting wide at the site of Harald.

"King Harald," he shuffled forward. "I did not see that you were here. My apologies," he rushed, bowing his head.

Harald looked over with a sharp eye, annoyance flashing across his face.

"I will escort her back now. Thank you, King Harald." Raising his hand, he motioned for her to hurry along.

Scoffing, she looked away into the forest beyond the far side of the stream where rays of sunlight shone through the forest canopy.

"Come now," he pestered, holding his hand up toward the path. "Before you are hassled by an undesirable in town.

Her eyes skipped back to Harald before returning to the young man. "You are the only undesirable hassling me." Tipping her head to one side, she gave the flustered young man a sly grin. Sighing dramatically, she walked out of the water, bending quickly to collect her shoes from the shore. Stepping closer to Harald, she stopped, looking into his eyes.

Narrowing his at her, he again tipped his head forward as if peering down the site of a bow. "How old are you?"

Lifting her brows in surprise, delight flashed in her eyes. "Men usually first ask for my name."

Chuckling softly, he shook his head. "I do not want to know your name if you are not old enough."

"Old enough for what?" her smile widened showing her perfect teeth.

Smiling back, Harald shook his head at his own words, glancing down to the ground between them, shifting the silty dirt of the path with the toe of his leather boot.

"Fine," he looked back up to her, his gaze skipping between her smile and her near amber-coloured eyes. "What is your name?"

"Well, I am not going to tell you that either," she quipped, still squeezing the skirt of her dress in one hand, shoes dangling at her side in the other. Flashing a coquette smile, she turned away stepping toward the anxious looking messenger.

"You are breaking my heart terribly" Harald called out after her, a playful lift in his tone.

"She is known for that," the lanky man with the too large of an adams apple jabbed.

Clenching his teeth, Harald shot him a threatening look.

"Come along now," the man rushed, turning back up the path. Frantically, he kept glancing behind to ensure she was following.

Rolling her eyes, she peeked back at Harald.

"I could just kill him for you if you wanted me to," he continued, needing desperately to see her smile one last time.

Giggling, she looked back, scrunching her nose. "I will keep that in mind. See you at the feast King Harald."

Turning away, she rushed onward, lifting her squirt further so the hem of her dress exposed the backs of her knees. Eyes fixed on her svelte legs, he smiled at her bare feet, covered in dirt, as she hurried up the path.

Breathing deeply in threw his nose, he exhaled loudly feeling a tug below his waste. Tucking his thumbs into the front of his belt, he shook his head with amusement; an unusual sensation swelled in his stomach and chest, warming the skin of his cheeks. Barely recognizing the feeling after so many years, decades even. He was beguiled.


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes scanned the rowdy hall hours into the evening. Where was she, he wondered as he nursed yet another cup of ale. Would she not come? Perhaps, he had imagined the entire thing. The image of her in the pooling stream, soft filtered light shining down on her smiling face was sealed in his mind. The way she stood, bare calved, gently swirling the water with her toe. His body was awakened, reminding him how long it had been since he felt the warmth of a woman.

The roaring merriment seemed to be at its peak, the volume causing his ears to ring. The feast was on its second night with one more evening ahead. The final celebration and send off the following afternoon beginning with the Queen's offer of sacrifice.

A large crowd was huddled around the seated sons of Ragnar. The young men were drinking with enormous grins and puffed chests, digging their teeth into their new sense of power. Harald had experienced more battle than the table combined. Harald and Halfdan, more than half their army combined. Watching the boys, he believed they were formidable and not to be underestimated but knew those bright, youthful smiles would soon fade once the first scent of blood hit their nostrils.

"That must be your girl," Halfdan nudged Harald's arm.

Turning his head, he scanned the area of the large open doors. The warmly lit hall against the dark outside created the illusion of a thick velvet curtain. Stepping into the light, she shone. The flaming torches cast a golden hue over her rich skin, and dark features, causing the jewel embellishments on her deep emerald dress to sparkle. A sharp pressure knocked his chest; his lungs demanding air. Inhaling deeply, a hum rumbled in his chest, loud enough for Halfdan to hear.

"By the Gods, you were not exaggerating," Halfdan leaned in, pressing his shoulder to Harald's.

Staring, Harald did not reply. Unable to tear his eyes from her, he watched her expression as she surveyed the boisterous hall. Her pouty, downcast lips were tinted rich with colour. Taking in the room, she smiled as if every person there had gathered for her enjoyment.

"Breathe brother," Halfdan clinked his cup with Harald's.

"She is...." Harald narrowed his eyes in her direction.

"A beauty!" Halfdan exclaimed.

"A girl," he replied. "Exceptionally young," he exhaled with a grunt, shaking his head. "Too young, I am afraid."

"Brother, I think you are looking at her but thinking of another young woman who played you for a fool."

Taking a drink from his cup, Harald grunted a response, watching the beauty move gracefully through the crowd. Noticing the perpetually frazzled young man, snapping at her heels, frantically directing her toward a long table filled with distinguished guests.

"If you are not interested then you will not mind if I..."

Glancing over, Harald shot Halfdan a frown. Chuffed with his ability to elicit such scowls from his big brother, Halfdan tipped his head back with laughter, again slapping Harald's arm.

Looking back toward the table, Harald's eyes locked with hers; she was looking right at him, the expression on her face neutral. Raising his cup to her, the slightest dip of her head was her only acknowledgment. That same odd feeling coursed through him again, warming the skin of his neck edged by his beaded, burgundy tunic.

Creasing his brow, he felt a pang of disappointment as he watched her attention turn back to the table. Not recognizing this group of obvious nobility, he could tell she was well positioned. Sitting demurely, she chatted to those around her, pausing only to greet passing kings and queens and respected jarls. The question of her identity continued to prod his mind.

Scratching the side of his cheek, he looked down, peering into his cup. He truly loved women. Their beauty. Their intelligence. Their ability to have children and raise men. Their power over men. He respected them and had, over the years, experienced many, leaving him with a natural confidence as evidence. Where was that prowess now, he wondered? There he sat, as customary, with Halfdan, watching the incredible creature from afar and surrounded by warriors, telling tales of battles and vividly describing the features of their most memorable lovers. He felt almost...lecherous and heavy under the weight of years spent proving himself to a child bride with no truth in her word. Sighing wearily, he blinked away the memory of a woman who would never be his queen. That was not a road to re travel, he thought.

Accepting another cup of ale, he turned his attention back to the celebration. A jug or three later, Halfdan convinced him to lead the table in song. His throaty, vibrant voice rang richly through the hall, the resonance, powerful from his lungs. Cups stilled and heads turned to listen to the king with the beautiful voice. Joining partway, Halfdan wrapped an arm around Harald before the rest of the table joined, spurring on the entire hall. As the song came to an end, the King's eyes again met the dark-haired maiden's. She smiled in a way that lit her eyes and left no question in his mind she had interest.

A tap on his shoulder broke their contact, with a request for him to join the eldest son of the fallen king. This was not the time for a discussion on strategy, but how could he refuse. Adding little to the back and forth, Harald remained quiet, both, hoping to expedite the exchange and lacking the desire to mediate the conflicted minds of the glory hungry sons. This would be an interesting battle, he thought.

Making his way back to his seat, he slowed at the sight of his brother standing, talking animatedly to the young beauty. Stilling for a moment, his hand smoothed his beard, giving time for his hackles to settle.

"Brother," he said in a loud, merry tone. "I leave for a moment and return to find you occupying the most enchanting woman in the hall."

Without hesitation, she smiled, "I came looking for you."

Smiling warmly, his eyes settled on hers.

"I thought you could buy me a drink," she continued in a light tone.

"Buy you drink?" his eyes narrowed in question. "There is no payment for the ale."

"I will take two then," she flashed him a cheeky smile.

Chuckling loudly, he grabbed a passing thrall, asking for a jug and another cup.

"Please, take mine," he offered her his decorative bronze cup only given to Kings. "If, you do not mind sharing."

Blinking several times, she accepted his cup, grazing her fingers across the side of his. "I do not mind," she uttered softly, taking a sip, her eyes staying on him.

"Will you be returning home the day after tomorrow, once the fleet departs?" he asked remembering her aversion to answering questions.

"No, I am here with my father. I will be sailing with him and his men to England."

Tipping his head, he lowered his chin. "A fine woman like yourself sailing into battle?"

"Are shieldmaidens the only women you see value in, King Harald?" her expression steadied.

"No!" his smile dropped; a flash of regret rung through him. "I only meant..."

"I tease King Harald," she giggled loudly, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

Laughing in response, he shook his head, glancing down to the floor between them, needing a moment to gather his thoughts. Without question, this woman had his interest.

"You disappeared on us!" the voice of the lanky young man called out to her.

Rolling her eyes, she grimaced, turning slightly away from where he approached.

"It is time for you to return to the lodgings," he eyed her sternly, "at your father's request."

"No," she quipped over her shoulder. "I am not ready." Spinning to face him, she lifted her chin.

"King Harald, Halfdan, this is my father's lackey, Fritjof."

His eyes shot to the two intimidating men; faces lined with imposing tattoos. Swallowing, he greeted them with a quick nod of his head.

"Lackey?" Halfdan asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"Gofer," she replied, lifting her brows. "Errand boy. Messenger. Slave," she smirked taking another sip of Harald's drink.

"Babysitter," he jabbed back. "Come now. I will walk you home," he huffed with irritation, "even though I have been granted the evening free."

"I have yet to dance with King Harald," she announced, passing Harald back his royal cup.

Flashing a toothy smile, he chuckled again, accepting the cup back. Taking a deep pull, his eyes remained locked with hers.

Snorting at her comment, Fritjof's face hardened as he glanced between the two brothers and then surveyed the hall, "There is no music," he sneered. "The musicians are either on a break or drunk like everyone else."

"Have you ever had a day of fun in your life Fritjof, Gods!" she cleared her throat with disgust. "And you heard the King sing. We do not need music," she looked back to Harald. "He can hum in my ear."

"Honestly!" Fritjof scolded.

Nearly choking on his drink, Halfdan glanced to a speechless Harald. "Well," Halfdan jabbed his brother affectionately in the ribs. "I am going to get out of here."

"Please," she objected politely, "stay. It is true, I must retire. I bid you, gentlemen, a good night."

Before she could turn, Harald reached forward and gently took her wrist. Dropping her eyes to his hand, she looked back up with a playful smile.

The smile was gone from his face.

"Tell me your name..." his face softened, as he released her arm, "or I will spend the entire evening wondering."

She dipped her head in a graceful bow, "I am Safira." Pressing her lips together, her eyes lingered before turning away. "Goodnight," she called back over her shoulder, smiling one last time.

"See you tomorrow," Harald called after her, his expression hard as he watched her weave through the crowd.

Halfdan stepped close, his head in line with Harald's.

"Safira?" Halfdan asked in a dramatic tone.

"Yes."

"As in Princess Safira?"

"I would think," Harald said flatly.

"Daughter of Erik the Red and his late queen from those hot islands with the black and white shores?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Daughter of the only other king in Norway and promised in marriage to Klak from Denmark?"

"I believe," Harald sighed.

"Gods brother! Gods!" Halfdan's eyes widened. "You mess with her and you are sentencing us to death. You will undo the last four years of the peace we have finally achieved with Erik."

Shooting Halfdan a pointed glare, he looked back to her, just as she slipped beyond the thick velvet curtain.

"I have no plans to mess with her."

Halfdan shook his head. "Tell that to your dick."


	3. Chapter 3

"Mm-hm, there she goes again," Halfdan stood at the end of a busy table, boot casually resting on the bench. Harald sat beside, arms up on the table with a full cup in hand, facing the opposite direction.

As the younger brother to a king, Halfdan felt it was his duty to be Harald's eyes and ears. Particularly now, considering his brother's tenderness toward manipulating young women. Halfdan did not know if this princess was acting with tactics. He would wait to judge. In the meantime, observe and possibly even encourage. She was awfully pretty. More so than the flocks of beautiful woman who usually angled for Harald.

"That is three times I have caught her looking over at you." Jerking back the long curtain of blonde hair, he continued to watch. Chatting with Aslaug, Safira's eyes flitted past the tall queen's shoulder toward their table. "Gods, Harald," he smacked the back of his shoulder. "You have that princess intrigued."

"Leave it," Harald grumbled.

Dropping his foot off the bench, Halfdan spun and slid in next to Harald. "Ready yourself."

"Hmm?" Harald squinted, glancing over.

"She moves this way," Halfdan replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

Looking down into his lap, Harald cleared his throat, smoothing his beard with his hand. Quickly straightening the jeweled medallion hanging from his neck. This is ridiculous, he thought, a King, preening for a girl.

The bothers' eyes moved in unison as Safira neared their table and walked past, never casting them a glance. Tracking her path, they watched her affectionally greet an older man, standing with a sharp-looking, well built, warrior. The resemblance suggesting the older man was his father.

"How...deliberate," Halfdan chimed, leaning his head close to Harald. "Who do you think those men are. She seems familiar with the one."

Harald shrugged. "Listen to you. Were you not the one who warned me, unneeded I will add, to stay away? Now you are offering commentary.

"What has changed? I thought you were love-struck," Halfdan smirked, shifting on the bench to better look at Harald. "Was it my warning?" he raised his brows. "Not to upset the understanding with Erik. Klak too, for that matter."

Taking a drink from his intricately carved cup, Harald sighed watching Safira smile and nod, listening to the Dane warrior speak. Her long, wavy, mahogany tresses hanging loose, nearly touching her elbows. Watching her politely engaged in conversation, he wondered if it was her mother's Graeci culture that had her leave her hair unplaited. It must have been hard to lose her mother at such a young age, he thought. Breathing deeply, he exhaled loudly through his nose. She was breathtaking in her rich blue dress.

"Leave it," he said again, nudging Halfdan with his shoulder. "I have my mind on another matter. We will sail to avenge Ragnar, but I have not lost sight of my dream of becoming King of Norway. It may serve my cause to return ahead of the others," he nodded his head toward where the sons of Ragnar sat, "to proposition the not-so-sad queen of Kattegat.

"Who could feel sad with that much ale in them," Halfdan whispered. "Who could feel anything at all." He lifted his brows. "You have earned your title as King, brother. Ellisif gave you that drive and fighting ambition....  
That hunger. And now here you are." Turning to look at Harald, his long swath of hair fell loose. "Perhaps, it was not all in vain.

Looking over, Harald's forehead scrunched in question.

"Perhaps," Halfdan continued, "that conniving princess was never the prize, only the means.

"You were fated to be here, right now, with her dead and that," Halfdan pointed an obvious finger toward Safira, "spectacular woman wanting your attention."

"I am a tired King tonight and am trying to put her out of my head. And look at her," Harald's eyes narrowed toward her. "she has yet to say a word to me. All evening. Even at the sacrifice and I only stood four men away.

"Pfft, she cannot appear obvious while promised to another."

"And that is just my point Halfdan. There is no point."

"So, you are too old," Halfdan clucked his tongue. "The trunk no longer twitches," he sighed. "Do not let it bother you. It happens to everyone...eventually."

Growling, Harald shot him a look. "The trunk has not stopped twitching since I first laid eyes on her."

"Well, that right there would be the point." The curls of Halfdan's mustache rose into a grin.

Placing her hand on the arm of the good-looking Dane, Safira threw back her head in laughter.

"Without question, I know more about the fairer sex than you, and a woman only laughs like that when she is trying to attract another man.

Harald eyed her thoughtfully.

"She has been waiting for you to approach her."

"Halfdan, I am sitting here, in one place, to stop myself from approaching her."

"Harald, you are now free to move around."

"Why?"

"Your girl is leaving."

Shooting his head up, he watched her say goodnight and walk toward and out the open hall door.

Grunting to himself, Harald raised his cup to his lips, halting as fury flashed in his eyes. Lowering his cup to the table, he straightened.

"What is it?" Halfdan leaned over, bobbing his head to peer around a group of people standing between the tables.

"That man she was talking to, the younger one, he walked to the door, glanced back and then went out after her."

"Everyone here must know she is the daughter of Erik the Red."

"These warriors are filled with both mead and adrenaline." Looking side to side, Harald scanned the busy hall. "Where is that little stain that followers her around?" Grumbling, he swiveled, lifting his leg over the bench to stand.

"I am coming with you," muttered Halfdan, finishing his drink and pushing on the table to stand.

Patting Halfdan's shoulder, Harald leaned down to speak over the noise. "Stay, I will not be long. Get us another jug. I will be back to hear more of your wisdom on my poor luck with women."

—-

"I said goodnight," her voice rang out through the quiet street.

The metal grinding of a blade being unsheathed caused the tall man to spin around. Lurching forward, he stopped, the point of Harald's sword pricking the skin of his throat.

"Did you hear her?" Harald's voice growled. "You grabbed her arm as if you could not hear her words." Leaning his face forward with clenched teeth, "The princes said, goodnight," he spat, raising his lip in a snarl.

Lowering the sword, he stepped to the side, glaring at the man who took off past him, running down the lane and around the corner of a building.

Looking over, he saw Safira standing frozen, hands pressed to her chest, eyes wide, staring in the direction he had run.

"Did he hurt you?" his voice was soft. Placating.

Shaking her head slowly, her eyes were still focussed down the empty lane.

"Princess?" he stepped toward her, a hand up as if he to sooth a startled colt.

"Please," she glanced at him, blinking through her daze. Clearing her throat, she squared her shoulders. "Please, call me Safira," she pressed her lips together to simulate a smile.

"Can I walk you home?" his face showed his concern. He would be sure she got back safely, whether she granted it or not.

"I am fine," she swallowed rubbing her hand over the wrist that had been grabbed, "but you can still escort me."

Holding his hand up, he invited her to lead the way and she stepped forward, Harald stepping in beside.

"I should not be letting you walk me back, you know," she said, looking around at the small buildings they passed.

"Because your father will see?" Harald glanced over.

'No," she laughed dryly. "He will be well into a barrel by now. It is because I am mad at you."

Stopping on the path, Harald turned to look at her.

Slipping her hand into his arm, she pulled him gently forward, to keep walking, a subtle smile on her face.

"And, what have I done to offend you, Princess?"

"Safira," she reminded him. "You ignored me all night. I could not approach you two evenings in a row." Her smile widened, now reaching her eyes. "That would be...."

"Forward?"

"Desperate." Her eyes flashed wide.

Chuckling, he looked over at her again.

"You do not like me?" She stopped, turning to face him where they stood just up from the dock and harbour.

"The problem is," he breathed in filling his lungs, "I like you very much." He scanned the buildings where they stopped, "where exactly are you staying?"

"Harald, may I call you Harald?" she continued, not waiting for a reply. "I cannot actually remember where our lodgings are. Perhaps, if we walk to the end of the peer, the sea air will refresh my memory."

"Hmm," he hummed with amusement. Wrapping both of her arms into the crook of his, she leaned closer as they stepped onto the wooden planks.

"You are not answering me," she uttered.

"Did you ask me a question?" he smiled.

"Why did you not seek me out at the feast?"

Pausing again, he turned to face her, midway down the dock. Dropping his chin, he studied her beautiful face. "Safira, I have thought of little but you since we met at the riverside. After last night, I knew any attempt to push you from my mind was fruitless."

"Why would you want to?" she shrugged.

Furrowing his brows, he tipped his head further as if to reprimand a naughty child.

"Your father and I have been in...." he paused searching for the right word, "conflict... since I became King. He feels it threatens his title," he squinted, creating more soft lines at the edges of his bright eyes, "and it does."

Taking a step closer, she reached forward, picking up the deep blue stone, bezel set in rich gold, hanging from his neck. Placing it back down, her hand stayed resting on his chest. She said nothing but her curious eyes jumped between his mouth, nestled in his perfectly shaped beard, and his stern blue eyes.

"I am not going to kiss you," he said, shaking his head softly.

"Why not?" she tipped her chin up, her perfect lips now lifted in a smile.

"You are too young."

"To young to kiss?"

"Yes."

"But do you want to?"

"You are promised in marriage to the king of Denmark."

"You are a king." She fluttered her long dark lashes before sighing and dropping her hand from his chest, rolling her eyes. "Yes, I am promised to some old man who negotiated with my father for ships."

"I am an old man."

"Yes, but a handsome one," she giggled. "And one with many ships."

"You are young enough to be my daughter."

"And?"

"These are my reasons."

"Well," she stepped closer, resting both hands on his chest. Leaning forward, she brought her mouth close to his and grazed her upper lip across his. "Be unreasonable," she whispered.

With an exhale, he pressed his mouth hard to hers and raised his hands, clutching her arms and pulling her against him. Shifting the angle of her chin, she pushed back, softly whimpering against his mouth. Ignited, his chest fluttered, and heat coursed from their moving lips straight to his groin.

Frowning, he pulled away and stared at her still closed eyes. Never in his life had we wanted to make love, so intensely, to a woman.

"Safira," he whispered, "how old are you?"

Her smile fell and she opened her eyes, peering at him flatly.

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen!" he exclaimed, dropping his hands from her arms and staking a step back. "Nineteen years old?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"The belt I am wearing is older!" he grimaced, feeling elicit, his eyes scanning the docks for witnesses.

Stepping forward, she slammed her mouth again to his again and brought her arms up, wrapping them around his neck. Tipping her head, she opened her mouth wider and swept her tongue across his, causing him to groan and grab her lower back, pulling her against his body.

Letting go, she slid her hands down his chest, and pulled away. His breathing was heavy and his wise blue eyes scanned her face.

"Ah." She smiled, looking toward the row of buildings overlooking the peer. "I just remembered. I am staying right there," she said, pointing to a large chalet overlooking the water.

"Safira!" he rushed, partially chuckling.

"What?" she giggled, leaning forward and pressing her lips to the side of his neck.

"You are..."

"Wild?" she tipped her head back to meet his gaze.

"Free-spirited," he lowered his chin, wise to her game.

Stepping back, she pulled free from his embrace. "Goodnight my King," she smiled bowing ceremoniously.

Standing in place, he watched her turn and run up the dock and across the lane to the large house. Disappearing into a door at the side, Harald finally exhaled.

—-

Back in the noisy hall, he slid down into his seat next to Halfdan, grabbed his drink and emptied the cup, shooting his brother a look of warning.

Sighing dramatically, Halfdan shook his head. "We are so fucked."


	4. Chapter 4

Soaking in the steaming bath, arms resting on either side, Harald dozed, only partly aware of the men outside describing their finest strikes. The battle had been won, and all before the thralls had even finished setting up the camp. Later the warriors would drink around the fire, sharing endless stories, while the Ragnarsons flayed the back and lungs of the former Saxon king. Tonight, was their night. The brothers. The celebration would begin the following evening. The different clans would then decide whether to return home or continue raiding along side the great heathen army. The leader was yet to be named but every Viking there knew who had the power.

Harald could not think about their next move. Could not push his mind in any direction that was not toward her. It had only been two nights since their kiss on the dock. Since he held her beautiful body against his. Gods, he groaned to himself, wanting to inhale her.

This was not what being sensible looked like. A grown man, a King, lying in a tub, pining for a girl. Grunting again, he squeezed his already closed eyes. What man, what Viking, could resist a woman like her? So alive. So alluring. A gorgeous princess with a young womb.

"Uh, you swine! Beat me to the bath," Halfdan ducked through the tent door, undoing the ties of his leathers, looking invigorated from the morning of slaughter. "I do not know about you, but I feel....good." Sitting on his cot, he yanked the bottom of his tunic out of his pants. "I saw two thralls setting up the dining area." Looking over to Harald, who peered back through one eye, he wiggles his brow and grinned. "Sisters Harald. I think they were sisters."

Mumbling something indistinguishable, Harald closed his eye.

"Sounds like someone has their sights on another."

Untying his tunic at the neck, Halfdan reached behind his head and pulled it off, simultaneously kicking free his last boot. Stepping out of his pants, he kept his eyes on his big brother and jolted forward, jumping into the bath; water splashing in all directions.

Howling, Harald's mouth and eyes shot open, as a large wave slapped onto the grass below.

"For the love of...!" Harald shouted, beginning to laugh. Pushing on the rim of the tub, he stood, his stiff erection pointing directly at Halfdan's forehead.

"Oh! "Halfdan cried, erupting with laughter. "Did I interrupt your daydreams of Safira?"

"No Halfdan, take an eyeful, this is what a real man looks like," Harald chuckled, jumping out of the tub, wrapping a sheet around his waist. "Enjoy the tepid water," he spoke over his shoulder. "I left my sweat floating on the surface for you."

"Speaking of the princess," Halfdan's voice composed.

Harald lifted his brow, pulling on a fresh tunic.

"I saw her."

"Where?" Harald's tone growing serious.

"Easy, you know I would not hold out on you. Their set up is on the east side of the camp, a little further down where the river is all fresh water."

"Hmm," Harald acknowledged.

"Your future queen was giving the ruthless Erik the Red an ear full."

"About?"

"Seems she is quite the pony princess. She was blasting her daddy for bringing one of their horses back injured."

"And Erik's response?"

"You know how the fathers of daughters are. Particularly, of persuasive ones like her. He apologized!" Sniggering, Halfdan grabbed the floating washcloth, wrung it out, and spread it over his face. "You are in for it, Harald," his voice was muffled from the rag covering his mouth. Resting his head back against the tub, he shook his head. "He fucking apologized."

—-

I was wondering if I had to wait until the celebration tomorrow to see you," Safira looked over to Harald standing in the entrance of the makeshift paddock. The subtlest of smiles pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Ah, I see," she smiled coquettishly. "We are back to being formal." Lifting an eyebrow, she returned her gaze to the white horse in front of her. Brushing the coat of its shoulder, her other hand smoothed over its back and ribs.

"So much is asked of these gentle creatures," she continued. "These loyal horses." Tipping her head forward, she peered into the beast's dark eye, continuing to stroke him gently. "They are ridden hard, forced to charge into the thick of battle. Too often getting injured." Shaking her head, she straightened, glancing back to Harald. "For what? Hay, a little grain and water from the creek. No affection." Looking to the horse, she smiled to herself. "Do you not think the strongest, most fearless would only grow more powerful with a little love in their life?" Starting to untie the horse's braided mane, her expression settled. "I would."

Resting his hands on the scabbard on this belt, Harald looked down to the hay strewn across the ground, taking in her veiled invitation. How was this woman able to confront him so unequivocally? Pressing his lips together, he felt humbled, both his pride stroked and affronted.

A young man, carrying a bucket of water entered the far side of the canopy, lurching to a stop at the sight of Harald.

"It is okay Rani," Safira said, not looking up to the thrall. Another man entered behind the first, also stopping, eyes skipping between them. "Please carry on you two," she said in a stronger voice, nodding quickly toward them.

The first emptied his pale into the trough of water. The second stuffed hay into a basket nailed to the pole post in front of the horse. Not wanting to catch attention, they both hurried away.

"My brother was right. You are a pony princess," Harald smiled, tipping his head to one side.

Smirking, she continued to keep her eyes on the strong back of the horse.

"The first time I ever saw you, I watched you strike a thrall for beating a tired horse who refused to pull a wagon." Glancing over to him she watched him cock his head further, narrowing his eyes as his mind searched his memory. "I must have been twelve or thirteen at the time. You were meeting with my father in our village and did not like how these work horses were being treated. I remember that day thinking how commanding you were. How powerful and at ease you looked in your leathers with the longest hair I had ever seen on a man, your face tattoos bright, like they had just been done. You looked as if not a thing in this world could scare you." Shaking her head, she smiled at the image, looking over to him again. "I thought to myself, that is the kind of man I want at my side when Ragnarök comes. He will raise his sword to protect me and if that fails," she smiled again, "he will wrap me in his arms and kiss me until the fires and storms consume us both."

Smiling in return, he too shook his head, "Sounds fantastical." His blue eyes beamed at her, following the delicate line of her profile as her small hands worked the kinks from the coarse hair.

"What do you expect?" she laughed lightly. "I was twelve, only a child"

"You are still a child."

"Do not do that to me," she snapped, her eyes shooting to his. "You keep throwing my age in my face. You diminish my feelings every time you mention it and all because of some stupid girl who played you for a fool."

Dropping his eyes, his body tensed. "Safira," he muttered, shaking his head with shame.

"Do you want me to feel like a fool?"

"No," his eyes shot back up to hers. "I do not want that at all."

"Then, please stop," her soft voice was nearly pleading. "I would not carry on as I do if I did not believe you felt it too...but are holding back."

"I am sorry, Safira." Walking toward her, he stopped, placing his hand on her lower back. Ignoring him, she continued brushing her fingers through the main like a comb. Reaching up, he placed his other hand on hers, stopping them from moving. "Can we leave this place? Can you get away for a while?"

Pinching her lower lip between her teeth, she turned to look up at his face, her eyes giving away her bruised feelings. "I am sorry," he whispered again, pulling her hand from the horse and bringing it to his mouth to kiss.

"My father has left for the evening to drink himself to sleep."

"He left you unattended?" Harald's brow creased.

"This part of the camp is crawling with his men. And....he left Fritjof to hover over me," she said rolling her eyes.

Stepping closer, he lifted his hand from the small of her back and brushed her long, shiny hair off her shoulder. Affected by his closeness, she fluttered her eyelashes, a blush rising high on her cheeks. Adoring the way her body reacted, he shifted even closer, unsure of what was more appealing; her beauty, her innocence or ability to all but bring him to his knees. "And, where is Fritjof now?" he ran his hand down her back, feeling the beads of her spine, relishing the way she cleared her throat and shifted her chin. He was in control now. Leaning forward, he kissed the skin of her shoulder, exposed by the broad neck of her blouse.

"I told him I would not eat venison again," she said in a breathy voice, closing her eyes at the feel of his lips. "I made him head to the river to fish for pickerel. Told him not to return until he had at least two."

Straightening, he looked at her. "There is no pickerel in that river."

"I know," she giggled.

Grabbing her waist, he spun her to face him, pulling her into his arms and nestling his face into her neck and hair, breathing in her clean scent.

"Not here," she whispered. "My father's men are everywhere. I will meet you. The top of the hill, overlooking the river. I will come on horseback."

"Be careful," he looked down to her, not wanting to leave.

Smiling, she quickly pressed her mouth to his.

—-

'I thought perhaps you got caught up," Harald called out as relief washed over him.

"I could not come empty-handed for a meeting with a king." Grinning, she held up a corked bottle of ale, quickly dismounting from her white horse.

"No cups, I see," he chuckled.

"We can share, if you do not mind," she called over her shoulder as she tied the lead to a nearby tree.

Looking passed him, she noticed the small fire he had lit with a fur draped over a log and pulled close, to capture the fire's warmth. Walking toward him, her steps nearly faltered noticing his tight posture and pensive face.

"Will your horse startle in the dark on your way back to camp?"

"He is a warhorse. Nothing spooks him," she smiled, not understanding the source of his tension.

Holding his hand toward the log, "I made a fire. The light is fading, and I did not..."

"It is perfect Harald," she smiled again. Thank you." Lowering onto the log, she patted the fur beside her. Sitting, he glanced over before looking into the fire. Leaning forward he picked up a stick and adjusted the pieces of burning wood, making sparks surge up toward the twilight sky.

Watching him, he seemed unsettled... anxious. She felt flattered that her warrior King, known for his charm and charisma, was unsure how to start. Clearing her throat, she had to rescue him.

"The waters around the islands of my mother's homeland are filled with a type of sea warrior. Not unlike Vikings, they raid, but not on land, boat to boat. They chase other vessels down, climb on board and pillage the valuables. Usually leaving behind a sea full of floating bodies." Turning, she looked at Harald's handsome profile. "They are called pirates."

Squinting, he glanced at her before looking back to the flames. "Halfdan has mentioned something of these people. Interesting," he hummed, appreciating the fact that this beautiful woman was sharing an antidote for the purpose of putting him at ease.

"When they celebrate their success, they swashbuckle."

"They what?"

"Swashbuckle. Allow me to demonstrate." Lifting the jug onto her lap, she yanked the cork free. Flashing him a cheeky smile, she lifted the bottle to her mouth and took three generous gulps. "Ahhh," she sighed out loud, lowering the bottle, and offering it to him with a grin.

"Safira!" he chuckled, taking the jug and tipping it back for a large drink.

"What?" she giggled.

"Here I thought you were a princess who could not even sit on a log without a fur."

Her laugh simmered and she pressed her lips together. The daylight now gone and the fire was reflecting in her sparkling brown eyes.

"You did not do that because I am the daughter of a king. You did that because you are thoughtful and kind... and, perhaps, like difficult women," she laughed.

Smiling, he swiveled toward her, throwing a leg over the log to straddle it. Grabbing her, he pulled her closer.

"Safira?" his voice was quiet. Apprehensive again.

Raising her hand, she ran the backs of her fingers down his cheeks as if to wipe away his uncertainty.

"I feel it too." Looking down, he exhaled slowly. "There has been a voice in my head, forewarning me." He met her eyes again. "Suggesting that this cannot be real. That you cannot be real. I did not expect to feel this way for anyone. It is sudden and even more extraordinary, you feel it in return."

Leaning forward, she tipped her chin up and kissed him lightly, "You sweet, sweet man." Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips to his again. His body softened and his lips moved gently. He was surrendering, with every tender, deliberate movement of his mouth. Lowering that invisible barrier. In this moment, she felt like she could walk right into his heart.

Pulling back, she looked into his brilliant blue eyes. "Does that feel real?" she pressed her lips against his.

Nodding, he dropped his hand onto the skirt of her thigh, pulling her even closer so she sat alongside his parted legs.

Picking up his warm, large hand she pressed it to her breast. "Does my heart beating in my chest feel real."

Nodding, he leaned forward kissing the side of her cheek. Turning her head, she caught his mouth, needy for his affection. Without breaking the kiss, she pulled her dress over her knees and lowered his hand onto her bare thigh. The fingers of his massive hand squeezed tight, reddening the skin of her leg. Taking his wrist, she slid his hand further up until the tips of his fingers contacted her soft bare centre. "Does this feel real," she murmured against his mouth, inciting him to growl, deep in his chest, pressing his fingers between her moist folds.

Dropping his mouth, he sucked the tender skin below her ear. "You are going to turn me into a wild man," he rasped. "You are so..."

"Wet," she whispered, her pelvis starting to rock against his expert fingers running slow circles around her clit. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she raised her lips to his ear. "You are the only man I have ever touched myself while thinking about."

"Gods!" he groaned loudly.

Shuffling off the log, he dropped to his knees, moving between her open legs. Grabbing her bottom with both hands, he yanked her forward, grinding his rock-hard groin against her bare core. His ravenous mouth finding hers, his tongue taking control. He was no longer being gentle.

"Safira?" Lowering his chin, he eyed her pointedly, pressing his buldge against her. "You truly want this?" Raising his brows, "Me?"

"I truly want this," she whispered. "All of you."

At her words, he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. Wrapping his arm around her backside, he lifted, pulling out the fur and dropping it to the ground below. Sliding her off and down onto the fur, he watched her face, as he slowly pushed up the fabric of her dress, exposing her open legs and palming her smooth thighs.

Dropping onto his belly, the light from behind illuminated her naked, glistening sex.

"Gods," he breathed out. "You are so beautiful."

Resting on his elbows, he grabbed her round hips and pushed his tongue between her folds. Moaning low against her skin, she flinched in response to the raw sensation of his tongue digging deep.

"You taste so sweet," he hummed, probing her entrance and working hard stroked over and around her tiny ripple of nerves.

Whimpering, she reached down and gripped the fabric on his shoulder as he used his thumbs to open her tight skin, sucking and laving her wet centre. Dropping a finger to her opening, he began to push inside and she gasped, her body going stiff as she dropped her hands to the ground on either side.

"Did I hurt you?" he looked up, concerned.

"It was just unexpected. Do not let me ruin this."

"You are not ruining a thing." Cocking his head, his eyes scanned her troubled expression. "My sweet," his brows furrowed, "have you been with a man before?"

Pressing her lips together, her eyes faltered. Silently, she shook her head.

"Safira," he whispered, "you are..."

"A tease?" she looked back to him.

"A temptress," he smiled warmly.

Hit with myriad emotions, he worked to keep his expression even. Immeasurable lust mixed with a need to shield this perfect person in front of him. Pushing himself onto his knees, he settled back onto his heels, running a hand over his mouth and beard.

"See, I have ruined it," she blinked, looking away.

"You have ruined nothing." Needing to feel her skin, he rubbed his hands on her knees. "There is no need to rush."

"Harald?" she peered up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, my beauty."

"I want you to claim me."

Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes, running his hands up and down her thighs.

Crawling forward, he kissed her delicately. "I will but not here. Not on the ground. You deserve to be loved on a bed of silk, amongst the finest furs." Sitting back, he slowly raked his eyes over her. "I am going to make you feel as radiant as you look though."

She nodded, disappointment just under the surface.

"Open your dress and show me your breasts." His jaw became tight and his eyes burned with want.

Unlacing the front of her dress, she pulled the fabric wide, hesitating she looked up to him.

"Take them out. I want to see your nipples; show me."

Pushing the fabric below each breast, she pulled them forward, lowering her hands back down to the ground. Ready for more instruction.

Exhaling slowly, he brought both hands up and caressed her chest tenderly, kneading her full, soft breasts, her nipples, in the flickering light looked nearly red.

"You are more than I could have ever dreamed of," he whispered.

Clutching her under the knees, he slowly spread her legs wider, pushing them back to either side of her chest. "Can you be a good girl and hold your legs like this?" Dropping his chin, he eyed her, his expression almost stern.

Nodding subtly, she slid her hands behind her thighs, clutching them tightly.

"Yes, my beauty, just like that." He inhaled loudly. "I am going to taste you again. Yes?"

"Yes, Harald," she whimpered.

"You are so beautiful."

Dropping back between her legs, he reached up and held one breast in his hand. Pushing his tongue into her centre, she cried out, tipping her head back, her folds now dripping. Growling into her sex, he lapped and sucked her wetness, his tongue roaming over the entire sensitive area.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured again. "Such a perfect pussy. My perfect pussy," he groaned, drilling his tongue deep inside her opening, tasting her juices, running down and over her bottom. Softly pulling on her nipple, she cried out, her legs jumping and the muscles in her stomach beginning to shudder.

"This is mine to feast on," he growled loudly, assaulting her small bud of nerves with his firm ruthless tongue. Her whimpers grew loud and her body began to tense.

'Hold your legs," he commanded, as he flattened his tongue and ground it down hard back and forth over her clit. Wailing, her release crashed over her; her cries grew frantic and her body lurched against his mouth. Slowing his movements until she stilled, he looked up, sweeping the hair back from her face. Climbing onto his knees, he held her thighs, smiling down at her disheveled state.

Crawling forward, he kissed her smoothly. "I am the only man who will ever touch you. Ever."

"Yes, Harald," she stared up to him, still coming down from her finish.

"You are such a girl," he whispered, kissing her again.

Helping her up, they stood and he pulled her straight into his arms.

"Harald?"

"Yes."

"We will still lie together? Another night?"

Reaching up, he cupped her jaw, tilting her face toward him. Her eyes showing the first-ever glimpse of insecurity. Scanning her smooth skin and beautiful features, he caught the adoration in her eyes. She was not a cunning princess wanting to entrap him. She was a young woman in love. A girl wanting to choose her own life. A life at the side of a strong warrior who protected a worthless horse; soothed it with kind words and a soft touch. He was going to give her what she wanted. He was going to give her everything.

Bringing his mouth to hers, he kissed her passionately, before placing a series of tender kisses over her jaw.

"I have something for you," he murmured, lifting the chain off his neck.

Placing it over her head, he swept back her long black hair, settling the necklace against her skin. Holding the pendant between his fingers, he handed it to her.

Smiling, she glanced up at him before taking the brilliant stone. "A gift for turning twenty?"

"No," he replied chuckling softly. "Is this not the meaning of your name? Sapphire?"

Nodding, she glanced back up to him, her eyes lit by her smile.

"My mother gave this to me when I became king. She died shortly after." Wrapping his hands around her lower back, he pulled her closer. "It belongs to you now. It is my promise of marriage."

Her smile fell and her eyes flashed wide.

Nodding silently, he smiled. "I will figure out a way for you to leave with me that does not result in a blood bath but regardless, I am taking you."

Looking back down to the large sapphire, set in thick yellow gold, her expression broke. Grinning broadly, she squealed and jumped up, throwing her arms around his neck.

"You have made me so happy. I will never take it off. Ever."

Tipping her head up, she kissed him and kissed him, peppering his mouth and chin and cheeks, even his nose with little kisses.

"You have made me so happy," he smiled back warmly.

"But Harald," she stilled, her face serious. "I do not want you to fight. My father's men or Flak's."

He brought his face close to hers, "We will be more cunning than simply starting a sword fight in the middle of a camp of warriors." Breathing in deeply, he kissed her forward, "Safira, once you leave with me, you must understand that you will likely never see your family again."

"I understand," she uttered, nodding her head.

"We will plan a head start but, I would still fight them for you." He brushed her hair away from her face, "All of them."

Pulling her into a tight embrace, he closed his eyes and rested his chin to the top of her head. The tethered war horse begins huffed softly, shifting its hooves on the soft ground. The smoldering fire was losing its flame, the chill in the night's air was no longer held back by its warmth. Not far into the thick woods, where the chorus of frogs echoed, Fritjof sat alone, leaning back against a tree...listening to every word. Facing away, his fists were clenched tight and his expression showed his rage.


	5. Chapter 5

"Where do you think you are going?"

Gasping, she spun around, Fritjof was just feet in front of her, blocking the path to the tent door. His expression was exasperated, as usual.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?" his brows shot up. "Do you?"

"You are theatrical tonight," she batted her eyes, using a cavalier tone.

"Safira! Now is not the time for your glib horse shit."

Saying nothing, she looked down, stopping herself from reaching up to the sapphire pendant, hanging from her neck, tucked into the front of her ivory dress. "How much do you know?" She peered back up to him.

"Enough," he glared, seemingly unable to blink. "Everything."

Turning, he walked to the only wooden chair in the tent, dropping down to sit. She could see he was anxious. More than that though, he looked afraid. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he ran his hands over his face.

"Eighty-eighty ships," he muttered, dropping his hands, looking back to her.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

"Stop it!" he hissed, causing her to startle. "Do you think King Klak is going to just, what? Accept the loss and swallow the fact that his promised queen ran away with the rival of your father? You do realize, somewhere in that pretty little brain of yours," he tapped his skinny finger against his temple, "that he will suspect Red of shifting alliances."

"Eighty-eight ships?" she asked sharply. "Is it worth my life? My happiness?"

"Oh, stop it," he spat. "I know you are not naive about these matters."

"I love him," she uttered quietly, looking down to her clasped hands.

He shook his head slowly, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It is my future. My life." She looked up to him, her resolve beginning to waver. "I-I, too, have ambition. He wants me as his Queen." Lifting her chin subtly, "A future alliance may not be an impossibility between him and father."

"I was wrong," his expression dropped. "You are not only naive but stupid." Again, he rubbed the palms of his hands over his tired eyes, his poorly cut hair, a tousled mess.

"You think you are the only woman who has been charmed by Harald Finehair," he jeered. "More ruthless for title than any king in Scandinavia. Do you truly think he is in love with you? He barely knows you! He wants a queen and an heir. You are no different than any other conquest." He laughed dryly, his eyes narrowing. "Sweet little Safira," he mocked in a patronizing tone, "thinks by chance, the most power-hungry man in Norway, just happened to fall in love with the only daughter of Erik the Red?"

"Are you done?" she scowled.

Dropping his gaze, he stared at the flattened grass floor, his glassy eyes skipping over the ground. Squinting, he glanced back up at her, "He suspects something is going on."

"Father?" she asked, her eyes flashing wide, her hand automatically going to her chest, pressing the fabric of her dress over the sapphire. "How?"

"Because Safira," he sneered, "the man misses nothing. Particularly when his mischievous daughter, who flirts with anything on legs, speaks with every man at the table, except for the handsome king seated directly beside her."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh," he glared.

"You are just lucky that he did not see Harald, nearly loose control, when Earl Heimir came to your seat, kissing your hand, bidding you a pleasant evening. Pfft." He looked away. "Your king is about as subtle as... well," his eyes snapped back to her, "you!" Shaking his head, he shifted forward in the seat, lowering the volume of his voice. "Red outright asked me if I thought anything was happening between the two of you."

"And?"

"I said no," his face indignant, "of course."

"He believed you?"

"It was not a case of whether he believed me or not. He grumbled something about you, and once you get an idea in your head.... oh yes, he did ask me if I had a single memory of you NOT getting what you want."

Smiling, she bit her bottom lip.

"Is this amusing you?" he narrowed his eyes. "Safira, he is sending you to Klak's. To Denmark, directly from here." Gawking his head tilted forward, "You are not coming home with us."

"What!" she gasped. "I am supposed to have until next season."

"That was before your flimsy performance. What did you expect? You did not even glance at Harald tonight, but sat fixed, arm to arm with him. And...after swooning all over him in Kattegat, cornering him after his self-indulged song," he rolled his eyes. "You think the detail of you drinking from a king's goblet went unnoticed. How understated, Safira. You wonder why I ushered you out so fast? Do not go to him tonight," he closed his eyes a moment, "please."

"I need to."

Letting how a long sigh, Fritjof looked up toward the tent ceiling. "He is going to take you to his stinking whale carcass of a city. Dump you there, likely pregnant, and head out in search of his next kingdom." He looked back at her, his expression truly worried. "You do know what happened to the last woman who upset him."

"I will talk to him."

Scoffing, "Oh, I feel so much better." He shook his head, in frustration. "If Red finds out that I know, he will cut off my head. Literally."

"Fritjof, you may be his bastard, but you are still his son. He would not kill you. I would not let him."

Laughing sharply, Fritjof stilled, bringing his hand up, he nervously bit the nail of his little finger. "When my mom died and he was forced to take me in, do you think he was welcoming?" Lowering his hand, he straightened his posture. "I was a nuisance. A reminder of that painful time in his life when he lost your mother, his true love, and dealt with it by taking comfort in the bed of a kitchen slave." He shook his head, "I grew up knowing that I was his regret. If it had not been for you....." his voice trailed off quietly.

Exhaling, she too shook her head, the image of him as a trembling four-year-old flashed through her mind. Shoes on the wrong feet and unbrushed hair. Skinny, and always fumbling with an old rag that had been sewn to look like a rabbit. Most princesses had ponies and dolls to dress and feed and snuggle with at night. Safira had Fritjof. Only four years older, she still recognized he needed someone and there was really only her.

"He is a hard man, I know this. But you are still his child and he would not drag you around everywhere with him if he did not see you as such."

Silence settled between them, both distracted by their own thoughts.

"If..." he stood, walking over to face her, "you insist on going, please for the love of Odin, change your clothes. And... do not allow things to go too far," his eyes flashed wide.

"I will not be long," she whispered.

"I will go with you as far as the edge of Harald's section. I will wait there. If father does return to check on you, it will be less suspicious, if I am also gone."

"Thank you, brother." Reaching forward, she squeezed his arm.

"Oh, now I am brother," he rolled his eyes, his bright for the first time that night.

"Sounds better than, thank you bastard," she crinkled her nose, smiling.

"I will get you a pair of my pants and a black cloak to wear."

"No," she scowled.

"A white dress will have you stand out like a torch in a dark hallway. Why not?"

She grimaced at him. "I am not going to feel overly seductive in my brother's pants."

"Safira!" he scolded. "Honestly."

"What?" she giggled.


	6. Chapter 6

"Another step and my ax will trim the skin off your cock," Halfdan taunted, from somewhere in the dark tent.

"Drop your hood," Harald commanded, lying on his cot, on the far side.

"Please, these are borrowed pants."

Pulling back her hood, Safira stepped into the glow of light cast by two candles on the wood round beside the bed.

"Safira," Harald rushed, sitting up and throwing back the furs.

"No, stay in bed. I am only here a moment." Hurrying to his side, she dropped to sit on the edge.

"I suddenly feel the need to study the stars," Halfdan crooned. Standing from his cot, he walked toward and out the tent door.

"Someone could have seen you," Harald uttered, running his hands down her slight arms.

"I could not go to sleep without seeing you after that dreadful feast."

"I am a composed man, but I will never have you beside me again without the world knowing you are mine." Lifting the covers, he looked at her expectantly. "I need to feel you."

Swiveling, she lifted her legs, sliding down beside him. One of his arms pulling her close and the other unclasping the cloak around her neck and throwing it to the ground. Tugging the furs over them, she shifted onto her side, placing her head on his feather pillow, their noses nearly touching.

"My father suspects something. He is sending me to Denmark."

"When?" his expression hardened. Pushing up on an elbow, he looked down at her, shifting his dangling braid to the other side of his neck.

"In three days."

As if the decision was clear, he nodded, "You will stay with me now. Not go back." With the flickering candle behind her, his eyes roamed the shadowed features of her face. Her high cheeks bones and the curve of her bowed lips, black hair, framing her elegant face. Every detail appearing more pronounced. She was breathtaking and making his body stir. He would kill Erik before he would let her be taken from him. "I will talk to him tomorrow," he said, dropping his eyes to her lips again. "Gods, you are beautiful."

Repressing a smile, her eyes shone up to his, her skin warming, responding to his muscular frame resting over her and his consuming stare.

"It will not be 'just talk' between you and my father," she whispered, wanting, so badly, for him to kiss her.

Reaching forward, she picked up his braid, running her fingers down to the tied end.

"Let me worry about that," he murmured, bringing his face to hers, his lips grazing the side of her mouth. Lingering, he dragged his bottom lip over her jaw, causing her to close her eyes, and run her tongue over her lips.

"I have to go soon," she nearly moaned, sliding her hands up his shoulders, and wrapping them around his broad neck. The wide opening of his linen tunic allowing her fingers to run over his powerful build. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, affirm that his body really did feel this good.

"No," he frowned, sliding his hand up, holding the back of her neck.

"Yes," she held his stare. "I am not your wife yet Harald Finehair."

"Somehow I doubt being my wife will change your convictions," he smiled, creasing the corners of his bright blue eyes. "We will leave in two nights' time." The softness in his face faded. "Can you be back here early, while it is still dark, the morning after tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Tilting down, he finally pressed his mouth to hers. Looking at her again, the slightest hum rumbled deep in his chest. "I am in love with you Safira Eriksdottir. Everything about you." Rubbing his nose against hers, his eyes squeezed shut. "You belong to me now." Pulling back, the candle behind her cast a warm light over his open face. "I will die before I give you up."

Running her fingers over his beard, she lightly raked her nails down his cheeks and throat.

"As in you own me?" She pressed a kiss to the under side of his chin.

"Yes."

"As you do your army or a sword or one of your ships?" her eyebrows rose. "The splendor of your next raid, even?" Her tone becoming serious. Questioning.

"What?" he scrunched his forehead. "Has someone been filling your head with uncertainty? Or, are these your concerns?" Lowering off his forearm, he shifted back down to the pillow, his hands, beneath the furs, snaking around her waist. "I like to think of myself as a brave man, but woman, you are scaring me." Licking his lips, his brows pinched together. "Are you having doubts?"

"I need to hear from you that I will be your queen and not your," her lids fluttered searching for the word, "possession."

"Safira," her name slipped free before he had prepared a response. His heart began to beat heavily in his chest, unsure of whether to comfort her or shield himself. "In all honesty," he sighed, as if allowing a decade of strain to topple from his mind, "for so long I was determined to become king of Norway. Consumed by it. I would have stepped over Halfdan, dying on the ground, in order to take the next kingdom. I wanted that title more than anything." Exhaling, he shifted closer, pressing his body to hers. "And to win the heart of a woman, who said she required that." Clucking his tongue, he shook his head. "How that was not an indication of her scheme, I do not know but I was blind, blind to everything but victory. I never thought about what life would be like after. Once I was King of Norway. Once I had a queen at my side. A wife. This." Pulling his arm out from the cover, he ran his fingers over the smooth skin of her cheek, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. "I am grateful the Gods knew better. I still want it all." Looking down to her mouth, he pressed his lips to hers. "But I know very little about making a wife happy." Holding the side of her face, he swept his thumb across her chin. "I will do everything I can to cherish you; spoil you. Make love to you every day. I want the whole world to know you are my queen."

"I love you, Harald." Bringing her mouth to his, she kissed him passionately. Kissed him as if it was the last moment to prove her devotion.m, her yearning. Breaking away, she rested her forehead to his. "I promise to tell you how to do everything in order to make me happy," she smiled, laughing softly.

Chuckling, he squeezed her in his arms, running his hand over the curve of her hip, pulling her leg up over his waist.

"I do not need to be spoiled either," she uttered quietly. "I just want you to teach me how to rule. Be a good queen."

"You were born to be a queen," he whispered, kissing her chin and the skin below her eyes.

"Harald?" she nestled closer, hugging his body with her leg, her centre pressing against the large budge below his waste.

"Mm, yes my beauty?" he breathed, pushing his mouth against hers, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

"I will let you..." holding her mouth still, she swept her tongue back against his, her hips pressing forward into his hardness. "I will let you buy me horses. Many, many horses."

"Anything your heart desires," he chuckled again, tightening his arms around her.

"I have to get back," she murmured between the soft movements of their lips.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Fritjof is waiting for me."

"Fritjof!" he pulled back, his eyes showing his worry.

"Yes."

"He will have your father at the ready. You are not going anywhere."

"He will not," she assured, pressing another kiss to his mouth before pulling from his grasp.

Muttering under his breath, he released her. "I will take you back then."

Standing, she turned to Harald as he shifted to the edge of the cot, dropping his feet onto the cool grass on either side of her. Yanking her into an embrace, he rubbed his beard across the blouse covering her flat stomach, sliding his hands up the backs of her legs. Breathing deeply, he soaked the feel of her in, not wanting to face the days ahead without her.

Cupping his face with her soft hands, she dropped to her knees, bringing her mouth close to his. Scanning his handsome face, his thick beard sprinkled with grey, she loved her warrior king in this moment more than ever. Barefoot, dressed for sleep, his touch heavy, with neediness in his wise eyes. A rush of desire washed over her, a warm surge, sweeping through her body, warming and pulling the tender parts between her legs. Her thoughts felt blurred, other than one, she wanted to sate him; leave him feeling at ease until they were together again.

Not prepared to wait any longer, he leaned forward and kissed her. Gently at first, and then with a force that caused her to whimper, softening her straight back and dropping her hands onto the tops of his strong legs. His insatiable mouth, reminding her of his relentless tongue and heady words just days ago. Feeling the wetness between her legs, she shifted her hips aching to hear, again, his lascivious words.

His mouth ripped away from hers.

"Get back in this bed." There was a threat in his tone.

"No."

"Get in here and I will have a new barn built for you and fill it with the finest horses."

Dropping back onto her heels, she looked up to him, admiring his dark silhouette, cocking her head to one side. "You will do that regardless."

Running her hands up his thighs, she skimmed her fingers over his linen pants, his straining erection standing hard.

"Safira." Her name alone was a firm command. His hips flinched toward her touch. "I am not going to have my woman kneeling in the dirt while I sit on a plush fur."

"I thought you would enjoy me on my knees." She squeezed his length through his thin sleeping pants.

"What are you doing?" his voice was low and gravelly.

"Harald." Frowning, she untied the laces at his waist, pulling his pants open. "You are old enough to be my father, remember? You know exactly what I am doing." Springing his thick erection free, she grabbed it firmly, causing him to tense and suck air in quickly.

Leaning forward, she lowered her mouth and swirled her tongue around the head off his cock, her lips ghosting over the smooth surface of his warm head. Grunting under his breath, his hips bucked up, toward her wet mouth. Sucking lightly, she worshipped him, skimming her lips and tongue along the sides of his length. Humming, her heavily hooded eyes glanced up before she squeezed his base with her hand, stroking him, and taking more into her mouth. Letting out a shaky breath, he leaned back, resting one hand on the cot. Brushing her loose hair away from her face, he gently held the back of her head.

This was not new to him, yet every sensation, every movement of her eager mouth felt unlike anything he had experienced before. Growing up as a handsome prince, beautiful women leapt into his bed, greedy and available for anything. Now, at nearly fifty, this flawless young girl had his senses perpetually heightened. He craved her with an attraction so profound, he felt utterly defenceless, entranced and in love.

"Show me," she murmured, peeking up to his dark, powerful stare. Popping him out of her mouth, she sank back down.

"Hmmm?" he hummed low in his chest.

"Show me," she repeated, continuing to stroke his full length with her hand, intermittently sucking the tip. "How fast? How deep? I want you to show me."

Running her tongue under his head, she raked him lightly over her teeth, her thumb and finger circling his base. Hissing, air shot out of his mouth as he pushed the back of her head gently. Her moans urging him on to clutch her hair tighter and rock his groin in time with her bobbing mouth.

"Gods," he growled, his eyes dropping down to watch her. "Is that what you want? Hmm, my perfect girl." his voice was heavy with lust. "You want me to fuck your beautiful throat?"

Whimpering a response, she continued, her hands squeezing tighter and the pace of her mouth set by his pushing and pulling on the back of her head.

Tensing, his movements suddenly slowed. With a pinched brow, he released her hair.

"Stop," he whispered as she continued her rhythm.

"Stop!" he roared, pulling her up by the shoulders.

Startling, her eyes shot wide. "Did I do something wrong?"

Dropping his hands, he leaned forward. "Who have you done this to?" He clutched her chin, and gritted his teeth.

Shaking her face free from his grasp, she sat back on her heels. "No one."

"Do not lie to me,' he snapped, before closing his eyes, inhaling deeply. Pushing every bit of air out of his lungs he attempted to calm the rage clawing at the inside of his chest. "Answer me," his voice was barely controlled.

"I have." She stared up at him with a blank face. "You are not hearing me," she articulated. "Wait," her eyes narrowed. "Was it good?" The corners of her mouth lifted into a smirk.

Grunting in frustration, "I want to know where you learned that."

"I had my thralls teach me," she replied flatly.

"You did this to your thralls?" he rushed. "Your paddock boys?"

"No."

"Safira!"

"I wanted to learn so I watched them do it to each other."

Stunned, his mouth fell open.

"What?" she grinned. "It was quite the tutorial."

Shaking his head, he squeezed his eyes closed. "You are so..." He shook his head again, speechless.

"Naughty?" she smiled.

"Boundless."

Steadying her expression, she shifted closer, subtly batting her eyes. "I just want to be a good girl for you," she whispered knowing how much he liked that thought. Dropping her chin, she kept her gaze on him, running her tongue over her parted mouth. Reaching forward, he held her cheek and dragged his thumb across her puffy, red lips. Opening wider, he slipped it inside and she ran her tongue around his thumb, making him groan loudly; his cock pulsing in time with the beat of his heart. Fixated on her wet lips, he continued pushing his thumb to the back of her mouth, hungry to see her gag. Swallowing awkwardly, her eyes watered but never wavered as she stared up, letting him hit the back of her throat.

"Fuck, Safira," his lip rose into a snarl as he ignored his instincts to be soft with her. To protect her. "You are my good girl, aren't you?"

His eyes skipped over her small form, kneeling between his legs, head bowed with her small hands resting on his thighs. Her exquisite mouth open, silently begging to be choked, as he reached as far back as he could. His cock ached, so full of blood, the slightest touch would have caused his release. Beginning to pant, he closed his eyes, imagining himself dominating her. He wanted to claim her violently, tear through her barrier and rut deep into her pristine cunt. He wanted to pull out and see his manhood coated with her blood. Feel her tightness, milking him, and hear her cries as he shot his love deep inside her unspoiled womb. He felt intoxicated, on the edge of madness.

Withdrawing his thumb, he smeared her saliva roughly over her lips, making them glisten in the low light of the flickering candles.

"I want to please you," she whispered. "I want to drink your seed." She glanced down at his large manhood, standing hard before her. "Please, my king. My husband."

Not trusting his voice, he nodded, drunk on her obedience and devoted face. Her round eyes brimming with innocence. Pushing his hips forward, a small trickle of fluid slipped from the end of his throbbing cock, running down the side. Placing his hand on the back of her head, he guided her down, closing his eyes as the warm sensation of her delicate mouth slipped over him. Having no experience teaching a woman to rule as a queen, he had complete belief in his own patience and control. With unwavering, unyielding certainty that his sweet girl, his beloved woman, his beautiful powerful queen, possessed the aptitude for anything.

—

Outside the tent, under the clear night sky and shifting stars, Halfdan snored. Arms tucked over his chest and boots crossed, resting upon a log. The crowds around the fires were growing thin as the kegs of ale reached their bottom. Fritjof, tucked away dozing in the shadows, was grabbed from behind. A gloved hand slammed across his mouth and dragged his flailing body back into the darkness. No one heard a thing.


	7. Chapter 7

The clamour of weapons being drawn caused the brothers to spin toward the ruckus and, instinctively, grip the hilt of their swords.

Axes and blades pointing at him, Fritjof froze, hands raised high, signifying he came in peace. He was hardly composed, though; visibly battered his face told a story of penance. Dark bruises to the left of his mouth, a bloodstained eye, scuffs to his temple with a partially scabbed gash across the bridge of his oversized nose. He looked pitiful. Alarm and annoyance flashed across his tentative face as he scanned the ready warriors before his eyes met Harald's.

"State your business?" Harald called out, studying the boy's disheveled appearance.

"They have taken her," he called back.

"Who?" Harald shouted, tipping his ear forward so not to miss Fritjof's next words.

"Safira!" Fritjof shouted.

"Who!" Harald roared. "WHO took her!"

"Red!"

Hucking his cup, Harald rushed forward, stepping over the dropped bowls of half-eaten morning stew. Stopping, he came face to face, with the clearly frightened boy.

"When?" he rushed, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword.

"Not an hour ago."

Harald's gaze drifted beyond Fritjof's shoulder as his mind raced, estimating their possible distance. Turning back, he shot Halfdan a glance who nodded and sighed loudly, then tossed his cup into the campfire.

"To the ships," Halfdan barked, turning to the gathered men. "Let's go. Now! Carry only what is in front of you. Leave the rest."

Looking back to Harald, Halfdan's face was void of expression, their plan set and understood, despite the risks and grave consequences. Pulling a carving dagger out of the log below, Halfdan dropped it into the scabbard on his belt. Grabbing a fur and a jug of ale, he joined the moving line of warriors, weaving between the tents, heading toward the shore beyond.

Returning his attention to Fritjof, Harald's hardened face spurred the young man to stutter on.

"He knew she was with you... last night." Looking away, he watched the men walking passed.

"How many ships?"

"I did not see but he is making the journey with her. Said he could not trust me to be the escort. His army is still in camp so they must only have one ship, filled with mostly Danes. He had, maybe, a dozen of his own men." Reaching up, Fritjof pressed the split skin across his nose. "Twenty or so of Klak's."

Closing his eyes, Harald ran his hand over his head to smooth his pulled-back hair.

"You will catch them?" Fritjof asked. "You will fight Erik?"

Pushing air out of his nose, Harald squinted at him.

"What is your plan?" Fritjof snapped, frustrated with the lack of response.

"I do not need to explain myself to you!" Harald barked. "Some kid."

"Yes you do!" Fritjof shouted. "That is my sister!"

Harald's face showed his surprise but he steadied, seeing Fritjof's barely controlled composure about to break. His scuffed, bruised cheeks flushing in a way that reminded Harald of his sweetheart.

"Safira has looked after me my entire life. Raised me. You have no idea." Reaching up he again pressed his fingers, with badly bitten nails, to the oozing cut. "I should not even be here. I should have just let her go. Far from you and this.....tryst. Let her live her life as the queen of the Danes. There are worse fates, you know?"

"Why have you come then?"

Lifting his hand, Fritjof dropped the sapphire pendant. The vibrant blue stone swinging back and forth on the chain below.

Snarling, Harald snatched it, yanking it free from his hand.

"They held her down," Fritjof's face broke, tears filling his bloodshot eyes.

"Who!" Harald demanded, his face contorting in horror.

"My father's men." Looking down, he closed his eyes. "They made me watch as a healer examined her." He squeezed his eyes hard as if to force the image from his mind. "Checked to see if she was still intact." Clearing his throat, he opened his eyes, unable to stifle a sob. "Father said he needed to know if she had laid with you before he faced Klak."

Heaving in air, Harald stepped away, looking to the sky and screamed, erupted. Tearing open the buckle at the neck of his armour, he turned and kicked the large pot of stew, suspended over the camp flame.

Undeterred, Fritjof continued, raising the volume of his voice. "She demanded that she be allowed to hug me goodbye. She slipped that necklace to me." Wiping his cheeks with the cuff of his canvas jacket, he again cleared his throat. "All she whispered was, Harald."

Hand on his sword, Harald brushed past him, in the direction of his ship.

"I am coming!" he shouted at Harald's back.

"No," he called back over his shoulder.

"I am coming!" Fritjof shouted again.

Stopping abruptly, Harald spun to face him, nostrils flaring, his bright blue eyes lit with fury.

"I love her more than anyone alive," Fritjof's cried out, his face showing his pain. "And I am quite sure, she loves you more than anyone alive. Be good to her and I will pledge myself to you. To you both." Blinking rapidly, his gaze weakened. "For whatever that is worth... but I will be loyal. I will support her in her new home, in her new role, never leaving her side when your duties require you to." Lowering his gaze to the trampled grass below, he uttered, "I would die for my sister."

—-

"Pull!" Harald roared, as the sixteen ores cut through the water, sweeping back over the white-crested waves.

"Pull!" His deep voice bellowed. The sound of thirty-two warriors, heaving in breath, as they laboured with the oak paddles.

"Pull! He screamed as the stern of Red's boat grew nearer and nearer. Harald's large crew more powerful than Erik's sails in the lackluster wind.

"Pull!" His voice ripped through the air. Halfdan and Fritjof stood at his back, staring ahead, as they approached the other vessel.

"Pull!" His voice broke, his throat raw like the rage in his body, the sapphire squeezed tight in his hand.

Dipping his chin, he lifted the necklace over his head, dropping it below his leathers. Placing his hand on his chest, he pressed the stone hard against his heart, a heart that cracked wide and called her in the night she slugged drink from a jug with tales of ship to ship raids. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes; today, he too would leave behind a sea full of floating bodies.

"Pull!" He rasped, his voice lost in the shifting wind. The curve of her shoulder and black hair flashing in his mind, her easy laugh and rascal smile. The way her face would soften, and her brown eyes would search his right before their lips would meet. A fleeting instant, where her charm eased and all she needed was her affections affirmed, taking solace in the kiss from the man she loved.

Closing his eyes, he reached out and gripped the tall mast beside him, inhaling deeply, he looked back out to sea. Opening his mouth, he prepared for the next command...

"Brother, they know their orders." Halfdan stepped forward, chin nearly resting on Harald's shoulder. He too watched the vessel ahead as Erik's crew lowered their sails, scrambling to drop their oars to row. "Save your voice. You may need it."

"I will only need a sword."

Glancing to Harald, Halfdan's eyes caught the tight, shifting muscles in his brother's jaw, the visible lines around his wary eyes and the spreading grey in his beard. Evidence of all those years spent fighting relentlessly. Claiming territory and stripping the crowns from Kings. In part for glory but also for love. Unknowingly, for this moment and this love; for the girl in the boat ahead. Dropping his eyes, Halfdan watched Harald's fingers fidget with the pommel of his sword.

"We well get her," Halfdan whispered, his eyes returning to the sea. Erik's ship, now only three lengths away.

"Ready yourselves!" Halfdan bellowed over the heads of the rowing men. "You know what to do."

"No arrows," Harald added, making his way to the bow, stepping up on a crate for a better view.

"You heard your King. No thunderbolts today."

He could see her. The back of her. Her small precious form. She was attempting to stand but being held in place by a large, bald-headed Dane. Standing mid-ship, Erik began shouting commands. Back straight and unafraid, Erik's gaze seemed fixed on Harald and his boat bearing down.

"Strong through to the end!" Halfdan called from somewhere behind.

Withdrawing his sword, Harald braced, eyes locked on the other King. Erik's roaring orders shifted, calling for them to drop the paddles and pick up swords. Mirroring Harald's men, the warriors on the inside of the benches, rose, pulling axes and swords free. Many, dropping to their knees, anticipating the impact.

Cutting swiftly through the waves, Harald's boat barrelled on at a speed that made the other seem still. Standing high at the bow, Harald gripped the edge tight, shifting his gaze to Safira, consoled only in that moment, that she had the arms of a warrior to brace her.

"Now!" Harald shouted, keeping his eyes on his beloved.

His warriors heaved in the heavy oak planks, allowing for the side of the boat to collide with Erik's oars. The hollers of battle screams rang as Harald's boat rammed powerfully into Erik's. The sound of cracking wood snapped through the air along with a series of thuds as the long oars on Erik's boat were driven down, hard, below the water by Harald's vessel. The planks slammed against the side of their own ship, hoisting the handle ends up, to stand vertical.

Leaping through the air, Halfdan was the first of a dozen warriors to reach the edge of Erik's boat. Gripping the upright oars like poles, Halfdan and their men swung and slashed their weapons wildly. His swath of light hair, flying loose behind him as he moved swiftly from target to target cutting men down with precision.

The shrill cries escalated as more men joined the scrimmage. Weapons clashed and blood spilled onto the narrow boards of the wooden deck. Men in Erik's front line began to drop and a heap formed as those behind pushed forward to engage.

At opposite ends of the boat, Fritjof and Harald wound their arms back and flung iron hooks, attached to thick ropes, landing in Erik's ship. Yanking back hard, the sharp points, embedded deeply into the wood rim, latching the boats together.

Launching back onto the wooden crate, one boot up on the edge, Harald drove his sword down into the shoulder of an attacking warrior. Slashing savagely with his other blade the others that approached. Snarling, his eyes incessantly returned to Safira. Still braced by the smooth headed warrior, she stared at Harald, terror in her eyes and her mouth gaping open in a silent scream.

"She is not for the taking, Finehair." Erik's voice barely reached Harald's ears over the grinding noise of the fight.

Hollering into the air, Erik made his way toward the bow of his ship, pushing in beside the two men hacking their weapons at Harald. Lifting an ax overhead, Erik let it fly as Safira's scream tore through the clamour of metal. Freezing, Harald's eyes shot to Safira as the ax whacked into the wood beside him, severing the rope attached to the iron hook. Teetering, Harald fought for balance as the bows of both ships begun to swing apart. Flashing his teeth in a jeering grin, Erik pivoted, hurling a second ax through the air, slashing the rope holding the sterns in place. Shooting apart, men lost their footing, falling into the water between.

"Safira!" Erik's voice bellowed out, his eyes searching the deck of his ship. Stumbling backward, Harald grabbed the edge, looking toward the spot she had been. The tall warrior now stood alone peering over the far side of the ship. Rushing to the Dane, Erik too, leaned over the side, repetitively calling her name and scouring the swells for any sign.

"You lost her!" Erik roared, turning toward his warrior, he heaved his sword on an angle, slicing through the side of the man's neck. His nearly severed headed slumped forward, as his body folded onto his knees, thudding hard as it collapsed against the side of the ship.

"Find my daughter!" Erik's wild eyes turned to the rest of the men. "The princess! She jumped into the water!"

"No!" Harald roared as he scanned the dozen or so men still thrashing in the waves, blades hacking and jabbing between the submerged fighters. Others struggling in the water to dodge the enormous, heavy paddles being lifted and dropped, as the oarsmen struggled to control the shifting boats.

Gasping, Safira shot up from the choppy sea between the boats and at the centre of the chaos. Face to the sky with hair slicked back, she coughed and gagged violently, her frenzied eyes shooting in all directions as she fought for her bearings. As the oars dropped around her, both Erik and Harald screamed for the planks to be held.

Leaping from the ship, Fritjof dove into the water. With flailing arms, he moved toward a stunned Safira. Rushing down the ship, Harald too leapt from the edge, hitting the water hard. Surfacing, he clutched the end of a long paddle and reached out toward Fritjof. Swimming on his side, Fritjof tugged Safira roughly, pulling her by her dress as she treaded water, becoming increasingly disorientated.

Fritjof shoved her toward Harald, who grabbed her tight around the waist, pulling her back against his body. Working his hand up the oar, he pulled them as close to the side as he could before losing his grip and sinking, with her clutched to his body, under the surface. The noise instantly stopped; all dark and peaceful. Only the swirling of water could be heard and the hallow vibration of the oars shifting above. Kicking hard, he broke the surface, gasping loudly for breath, Safira nearly slack in his arms.

Brother!" Halfdan shouted, his arm extended over the rim of the rocking ship, his lower half braced by another fighter. "Take my hand," he shouted, jerking it forward.

"Grab her." Harald heaved her upward toward Halfdan's reach. The momentum pushing him, again, below the nearly black water.

Clutching the neck of her dress, Halfdan yanked her up the side, pulling her over the edge and into the ship.

"Fritjof!" Erik hollered from behind. "Fritjof!" he screamed again and again, his voice both damning and full of rage. Neither Harald nor Fritjof turned to look as they fumbled with lines being dropped. The freezing water causing both to struggle with the rope. Finally wrapping the lines around themselves, they were heaved into the boat; Harald, followed by a trembling Fritjof.

Landing on the deck, the uninjured warriors raced past, readying the boat and fishing the last fighters out of the water. Pushing up off the boards, Harald moved stiffly toward Safira; the cold deepening its grip. Being held by Halfdan, who was shouting for furs, Safira sat slumped on a bench, her body shuddering violently from the frigid water and cool air.

Falling hard onto his knees, he reached forward and grabbed her rounded shoulders. Her vacant eyes staring down. Jerking her to look at him, she lifted her face but her dazed eyes would not meet his.

"What were you thinking?" he rushed, his face no less panicked than before she had been pulled from the water. "You could have been slashed by a blade or crushed between the boats. An oar hit would have caved your skull!"

The cold had turned her olive-toned skin pale, her eyes red from the sea. Blue had begun to tint her trembling lips. Slowly, her gaze shifted to his, struggling to keep focus.

"You could have died," his voice broke, his face showing the torment of the thought.

Wrapping a fur around her shoulders, Halfdan's hands squeezed Harald's through the thick pelt. "But she lives brother." Standing, Halfdan moved away to help the men.

Lowering her chin, Safira's eyes caught the small length of gold chain just visible above the neck of Harald's armour.

Shaking her head, her eyes flicked back up to his. "It is you or not at all," she uttered weakly, tears beginning to fall from her large, dark eyes.

Harald, too, shook his head as he stared at her tender face, his own tears blurring his sight.

"You bold, remarkable woman," he whispered, almost silently.

"I angered you," she murmured, closing her eyes and falling forward to press her face into his neck.

"No, my sweet." Breathing in deeply, his arms wrapped around her. "Never mad, only scared."

Behind them, Halfdan called out the order to return to shore to warm and prepare for the journey home.

Cracking open her eyes, Safira turned her head away, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Nestling into his chest, she watched Erik's boat pulling away. The longship's paddles working in unison, moving them further and further out to sea. All she could see of the legendary Erik the Red was the back of his head, never once glancing behind at his children.

"I will never see my father again," she whispered, her cheek pressing against Harald's damp leathers.

"No, my beautiful girl, you will not." Squeezing her tighter, he pressed a kiss to her salty hair, resting his cheek against her head. "But I will."


	8. Chapter 8

"There you..." his voice trailed off as he stood in the threshold of the open door. Before him, a sight that stole his breath, leaving his words to hang in the air. Lying disrobed, flat on her tummy in the centre of his impressive bed, was his beloved. Sleepily, looking at him from over her shoulder, she swept her long hair over with the flick of her head, and smiled.

"My darling?" her voice was heavy with fatigue, but her eyes were enjoying the way his brilliant blues flickered in awe, taking in her bare form.

"Hmm?" he murmured, adoring every detail of her perfect flesh fully on display.

The elegant sweep of her back and her long, alluring legs. Thank the Gods for those legs, he silently exclaimed. The memory of her climbing the path up from the river, her dress held high over her knees flashed through his mind. The way her eyes sparkled with mystery and her soles were stained dark from the dirt. Smiling at the image, he stepped into the room, closing the door to the hall and the guards stationed beyond. Leaning his back against the door, his focus returned to the swell of her round, upturned bottom, the crease between offering only a hint of the treasure below.

"Darling?" she repeated in a soft tone, dropping her chin subtly, only her eyes visible above the line of her elegant shoulder.

Ten hours they had been in Vestfold and Harald's relief and exhilaration had warmed the city like a cloudless summer day. Adored by his hard-working people, they immediately took to the streets, cramming into the hall to celebrate the news of the royal wedding that would be just days away. The sounds of that merriment was now the backdrop to their intimate, candlelit setting.

"Safira?" lowering his own chin, his eyes locked with hers, the revelation that they were truly alone, pulsed through the air between them. Her glowing, brow eyes, squinting narrowly from the width of her hidden smile. That smile, he relished, inhaling deeply, her most glorious prize. One that had and would continue to bring him to his knees. Wanting to be stern, he pressed his lips together yet there was no hardness in his eyes, only reverence as his body prepared to answer her unspoken call. "I grew worried when I returned to the table and found your seat empty. Tell me before you go anywhere. Please."

"I grew tired and wanted a moment alone. To settle my mind and perhaps," lifting her face, she rested the side of her chin on her shoulder, "nose around.... unobserved." Scrunching her nose, she laughed.

Straightening from the door, he moved toward her, realizing how his heart had missed the sound of her glee.

"Harald?" her lips settled into a simper. "I hope you do not mind that I made myself comfortable."

"Safira," he shook his head, "there is nothing here that does not belong to you now." Lifting his hands to indicate, his eyes scanned the richly decorated room.

"Including you?" her eyes flashed with her smile.

"Including me," he answered in a low voice, dropping to his knees at the bottom of the bed. Reaching forward he captured one of her feet, rubbing his thumbs into her high arch.

Mewing from his gentle touch and powerful hands, she lowered herself flat to the bed, resting a cheek onto her folded arms. Closing her eyes, she sighed, shifting her legs further apart.

"You have had a shocking day. Would you like me to use my hands on the rest of your body to ease your strain? Relax you. Or perhaps, you just need sleep."

"Keep your hands on me," she murmured softly. "It grounds me. Tells me this is real, and the rest is behind us."

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to the back of her calf, continuing to knead his fingers, over her ankle and up the back of her leg.

"I did ask Fritjof to let you know and I was having the guards escort me back."

Scoffing with a chuckle, he pushed himself to stand, pulling off his gold-trimmed tunic. "Fritjof is so full of ale, I am sure he will wake wondering how he got here from Wessex." Kicking off his boots, he unlaced his breaches, letting them drop to the floor. His body felt hot despite the cool temperature of the room.

With eyes still closed, she smiled at the feeling of the bed dipping under his weight. Crawling over her lower half, he pressed more kisses to the back of her legs, her bottom and up her smooth, willowy back. Sighing again from the feel of his lips on her bareness, she spread her arms to either side, pushing her bottom up in search of contact. Smirking, he hummed deeply, unable to lift his eyes from the swell of her behind, his mind willing his body not to rush and instead savour, bask in the perfection of his woman and this moment that had nearly been stolen.

"That is not a part of your body I will neglect."

Lowering himself onto an elbow, he groaned as his skin met hers. The hair on his chest, tickling her back and his solid shaft, pressing into the join of her cheeks. Grunting, he held still, rigid, his entire focus centred on keeping himself from grinding hard against her ass.

"My beauty?" Reaching up he pulled her dark hair clear of her neck, pressing wet kisses against the side of her throat and upturned chin. "Are you wanting to wait until our wedding night?"

Shifting, she motioned to roll over. Pushing his weight onto his arms, she flipped onto her back, spreading her legs and allowing him to climb between. Nestling down, his solid manhood pressed against her small black mound.

"I need to feel you," she gazed up to his adoring eyes, her hand tracing across his brawny chest, stopping to feel his thundering heart. "All of you," she whispered, an invitation in her tone and devoted eyes.

Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her, his movements full of emotion and a passion only a person who took life could have. His powerful jaw pushing hers wide with a need to fill his hunger. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead to hers, shifting his weight to one side. Sliding his hand up her ribs to rest between the rounds of her soft breasts.

"You are the last wish I will ever ask of the Gods. You are their favour upon me. Every day, until I am carried up to Valhalla and even then," his eyes blazed at her, "when we meet beyond those great doors, I will rest my face here," he pressed his hand on her chest, "and listen to the calm of your beating heart and all the pain and ambition of life will slip away and I will fall in love with you all over again."

"Make love to me Harald," she uttered, her voice nearly silent, tears streaming down her temples from the edges of her dark lashes.

Dropping his lips to hers, he kissed her slowly, delicately. Lips brushing over, slipping away only to scatter small kisses around her face and down her neck to her chest. Safira lifting and tilting her head allowing him access, reveling in the feel of his silent worship.

Using one strong arm, he reached below and turned her over and followed her down to rest his chest to her back. His face, again, finding comfort in the crook of her neck. Soft whimpers escaped her as his large hands swept over her side, pushing under to hold and squeeze her full breast. His lips continuing to graze the back of her shoulders and down her spine. Shifting lower, he nipped softly at the flesh of her bottom, his hands eagerly rubbing circles into the round swells. Pushing her legs apart, he slid his arm further, pulling her up to rest on her knees. Eyes closed; her cheek pressed against the soft covers of their plush bed.

A guttural laugh erupted from her as he pressed his mouth to the back of her sex, running his hands forward to rub and massage her lower back. Grinding his own desire into the bed as his tongue worked her soft layers apart. Rich, silken wetness received him, coating his mouth and causing him to groan against the back of her core. Gasping, she clutched the furs and pushed back against his face making him groan and pull away. Standing straight on his knees, he gazed down at the back of her spread womanhood. The muted sounds of cheers and laughter beyond the door were faint in comparison to his panting breaths.

"I am ready," she breathed, arching her back toward him, his hard shaft, twitching in response to her movement.

"I need to see your face."

Holding her round hips, he guided her over to lay flat on her back, her open legs on either side.

"You are a vision, and entirely mine." His eyes roamed her exquisite face, her narrow waist, and back up to her round breasts. Her dark nipples were hard with arousal. "As I am yours. Only yours."

Smiling, her eyes shone as she scanned the developed muscles of his broad shoulders and chest, his taut stomach, and his impressive manhood.

Dropping his face between her legs, he grunted loudly and lapped at her wetness again. Inhaling her beautiful musk, he shook his head from side to side, sweeping his tongue back and forth spreading her lips and stroking her swollen clit. Raising his hand, he slowly pushed a finger into her opening, holding it still as her body worked to adjust. Imbedding it further, his mouth continued to grind against her little bud, her hips starting to move in a slow circling motion, showing her need for more of the new, unfamiliar sensation. The muscles in her stomach jumped as he pushed his finger as far as his knuckles, pressing in all directions against her unstretched walls.

"Woman, I need you." His gaze lifted to her face. "I need to bury myself in this."

"Yes," she whispered lifting her head to meet his gaze, extending an arm toward him.

Carefully withdrawing, he stalked over her and leaned down, letting her taste her own splendour. Her mouth eagerly devoured his, inspired by her body's flavour. Sitting up, he settled onto his spread knees, pulling her legs over. Grasping the base of his length, he began sliding his tip between her tender, pink folds.

"Gods, you are so aroused." Staring down, he continued running his inflamed head across her slippery core, her narrow entrance shining with excitement. "This is more than I could have ever dreamt." Flexing her hips, she pressed her sex up to him, causing him to hiss and press down even harder, the wetness coating the underside of his shaft. "By the Gods, I could erupt just from this," he moaned, closing his eyes.

With a grunt, deep in his chest, he glanced up to see her eyes squeezed shut, her face tipped back and mouth gently parted. Her knees dropping wider and her pelvis rocking toward him.

"That is it, my beauty," he exhaled loudly. "Spread your legs and give me your beautiful cunt. You look so beautiful."

Pushing the tip of his cock into her entrance, he felt the dragging of her maidenhead. Edging further, he snapped his eyes up to her at the sound of her wince. Rolling her hips, she gave the cue for him to continue and he eased further, burying his tip, beginning to sink his length. Sucking in air, she winced again and furrowed her brows, shooting him an apologetic glance.

"Let us rest here," he whispered in a calming voice. "You are so little." Settling further onto his heels, his hands smoothly rubbed the inside of her thighs from her knees to her core.

"You are not little," she smirked, her smile dimpling her cheeks.

Reaching her hand between them, her fingers felt the remaining half of his length. Dipping her fingers below, she coated them in her own slick before placing the pad of her finger on her small bundle of nerves. Softly, barely grazing the skin, she tickled delicate circles over her clit.

"Woman," Harald groaned, a rumbling hum vibrating in his chest. "You are going to pull the see straight from my loins." Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin; his cock throbbing inside her.

Rolling her hips, he hissed again, her grip nearly painful. Rubbing her small sensitive spot, the tension lifted from her face. Beginning to relax, she focussed on the pleasure and he watched his woman, circling her nub, rutting her hips around him.

"More," she whispered; her eyes still closed. Her other arm curling up over her head. Harald slid further, pausing when she flinched, her pelvis continuing to move in slow motions, gradually baring down.

Licking his thumb, he replaced her hand and delicately rubbed, following her method. Whimpering, her hips bucked again, allowing him to push his entire length in. Their mutual moans cried out into the dimly lit room and he fell forward, his mouth desperate for hers.

"My queen," he mumbled between hot breaths and deep kisses, slowly curling his hips to spear the delicious spot inside her. His pelvis pressing her clit, directly above where their bodies joined.

Bucking her hips against him, her breathing quickened, her whimpers becoming urgent cries. Rutting down, her movements became frenzied forgetting all need for tenderness. Continuing to whine in his ear and impale herself on his rock-hard cock.

"Yes, my beautiful girl." His lips were tight back in a snarl. "Grind my cock with your perfect pussy," he growled, his muscles burning, pulling sweat from his body as he fought the need to drive into her.

"My darling," she whined, her tongue licking the outside of his ear. "My King, please" she groaned, "fuck me."

Like the rallying cry of battle, Harald roared. Withdrawing his length to the tip and slamming into her. Wailing again, he rammed her hard, over and over, her hips braced forward, receiving his frenzied thrusts. One hand around his neck, and the other pushing against the headboard above. His shouts and powerful ruts, making her toes curl and the walls of her womb squeeze. Heat flooded his body and the world fell away as he pumped one last time, spurting his seed with a violent shudder. Collapsing forward, he cried out loudly, slumping down onto her small form. His breath was racing and his mind blank, oblivious to everything but the beating of his own heart.

Clinging to his shoulders, Safira wrapped her legs around his back, embracing him even tighter.

"Are you alive, my darling," her sweet whisper tickled the skin behind his ear.

"No," he replied, his voice husky with a lift of delirium.

Laughing, she squeezed her legs, running her hands down his sweaty back and long braid. "Please live, so we may do this again."

Grunting, his mind began to return to his body, life restoring to his heavy limbs. Lifting his weight onto his elbows, he pressed his lips to hers. Pulling back, to stare at her face, his blue eyes were alive with wonder.

"What are you thinking?" she whispered, releasing his neck and running her hands down to smooth the hair of his beard.

Shaking his head, he opened his mouth but hesitated. "I-I, am lying here, still deep inside the womb of the most spirited, bold, enchanting woman to ever walk Midgard and I do not believe it possible to be any happier, any more fulfilled than I am in this very moment."

Shaking his head again, he dropped his face back to her neck, inhaling her scent and savoring the feel of her body wrapped around his.

"My beauty?" He whispered, pressing soft kisses to the skin below her chin. "What is it that you are thinking?" Not having to see her face, he knew her mouth was stretched wide with a smile.

"I was wondering if making love is always this... fast."

"Safira!"

"What!" she giggled.


	9. Chapter 9

"My brother the king!" Approaching from behind, Halfdan slapped Harald's shoulder before reaching passed and snatching a sausage from his plate.

"Halfdan," Harald nodded, continuing to eat his morning meal.

The hall was nearly empty except for two or three thralls moving in and out from the kitchen, tending to their morning chores.

"You look rested." Sitting back in a chair, Halfdan stacked his boots up on the edge of the table.

"I do?"

"No," he grinned, mashed pork visible in the corners of his open mouth. "You look like you have not slept since the last full moon."

Grunting, Harald looked down to his plate. "We have been married for one season now. I fear I will not last two."

Dropping his boots onto the floor, Halfdan shuffled his chair closer. "What is the problem brother? Getting fucked to death?" Throwing his head back, his laughter echoed through the quiet hall.

Shooting Halfdan a wearied look, Harald lifted his cup, summoning a nearby thrall.

"What a good way to die," Halfdan added, standing and leaning forward to grab another link of meat.

"Do you want your own plate?" Harald scoffed.

"Nah, my wife fed me."

A young woman rushed to the table, tipping a jug to fill Harald's cup.

"No," he placed his hand across the top of his goblet. "No mead. Water." Moving away, the thrall quickly returned with a second jug, filling his cup.

"Leave the jug," Harald ordered letting out a worn sigh as he brought the cup to his mouth. Mumbling, he finished the drink in one shot. "My beautiful wife is dehydrating me. I could not even piss this morning. I am slowly being desiccated... either that or my prick has just given up."

"Now you are straight boasting," Halfdan chuckled.

"You laugh," Harald's eyes shot wide. "You do not know."

"Brother, you have met my wife. She has fire in her blood. Just as yours does. It is their Mediterranean lineage."

"I have never felt this impassioned before. I crave Safira but it does not compare to her appetite for love making. How can I keep this pace?" Glancing behind, he ensured they were alone before leaning forward in his chair. "I have begun to talk to my cock. Rally it. Whisper encouragement as I walk the corridor to our chambre each night. She is insatiable." Sighing, he shook his head, looking down into his empty goblet. "I need to go raiding."

"Yes!" Halfdan exclaimed. "Where are we going?"

"You, are not going anywhere. You will remain here to tend to my wife's needs."

Furrowing his brow, Halfdan's smirked. "You would share her? Vienna would rip my dick off."

"No!" Harald cried, a smile breaking across his face. "Gods, no. Never. You will stay behind to see that she is safe. Looked after. And, that she and her stain of a brother do not kill each other." Grimacing, Harald looked up to the rafters as if addressing the Gods. "Please, I just need one day without those two arguing."

"I thought these young wives would keep us young, brother," Halfdan squinted.

"Perhaps... or kill us with stress."

"Or ride us until are legs snap off." Halfdan laughed again.

"I would laugh too if the threat was not real."

"Harald!" her voice rang out from behind the woven screen. "There you are, lover." Smiling, she walked toward him. His arm lifted, beckoning her to him.

Standing beside his chair, she placed her arms around his neck, leaning down to kiss his waiting mouth. Hands roaming her waist and bottom, he settled, resting an arm around her hip, his fingers swirling over the smooth fabric of her silk dressing gown.

"Good morning, my queen," he hummed, kissing her a second time. "So accustomed to being bare, you no longer dress before entering the hall?"

"Complaining, my king?" she crooned, batting her eyes.

"Well, I am off," Halfdan announced, clearing his throat. Standing, he nodded to Safira as he walked passed toward the hall doors.

"Where?" Harald called after.

"Anywhere but here."

Looking back down to Harald, Safira pushed her lip forward into a pout. "I am too upset to dress."

"Why my beauty?" he mewed in a soft tone.

"It is Sophie."

"Who?"

"The pretty Frankish cook you bought me."

"Is she pretty?"

"Please," she rolled her eyes, smiling. "You are not yet entirely blind. She is trying to make me undesirable to you."

"Impossible!" he tightened his grip around her side, patting the top of her bottom.

"My breakfast was just served to me in our room."

"And?"

"Sweetcakes and berries with cream."

"You love that."

Raising her brows, she eyed Harald. "Last night pork and dumplings."

"And?"

"She is trying to turn me into a dumpling!" she exclaimed. "I cannot fit into a single dress, Harald. I want her gone."

"You would not admit it, but I know you hated the food before she came. Just... have new dresses made."

Scoffing, she theatrically gaped her mouth. "What do the Frankish say? Off with her head!" She flashed a cheeky grin.

"Safira!"

"What?" Bending down, she pressed another kiss to his lips before pulling back and pecking the tip of his nose. "Tell her to find her own old man. She cannot have mine."

Leaning back, he laughed hardily, gazing up to her. "I love you, Safira. You are beautiful. At any size."

Untying her robe, she stepped back from his embrace, holding the gown open wide. "Look at me." Her eyebrows spiked with exasperation. "Just look."

He narrowed his eyes before they flashed wide, "You look...."

"Fat?"

Straightening, his expression sobered, his eyes beginning to gleam with emotion, "With child."


End file.
